


Empty Hands

by supervillainesses



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Gotham City Sirens (Comics)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supervillainesses/pseuds/supervillainesses
Summary: After recuperating from a broken leg, Harley agrees she and Ivy need a night out. Ivy didn’t take into account meeting up with their friendly neighborhood cat burglar, or her wealthy boyfriend, much less getting trapped on a carnival Ferris wheel in the middle of the night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one was another commission from Tumblr

They made small talk, sometimes. It was odd, though, living with Harley. In the beginning, she’d expected constant chatter, the younger girl to be hardly different from a fly buzzing around her head twenty-four hours a day. It was all or nothing with her, hours of talking or hours of silence. The silence never meant distance, though. Even when inexplicably quiet, she would remain in Ivy’s presence unless she shooed her away. When quiet, the blonde was companionable. Ivy didn’t even mind that Harley would press herself to her back while she worked in the greenhouse lab. It was Harley’s volume that distracted her, mostly. It was also Harley’s quiet that sometimes unnerved her.

“What was it like, Red?” Harley set her DS on her chest, pausing to stretch her arms and legs, understandably cramped from being curled in the window seat for upwards of three hours. It had been a few weeks since she’d hurt herself while fleeing the police, and after many treatments from Ivy’s special serums and salves, she was making a speedy recovery. Still, they had been cooped up for close to a month now, staying up late and sleeping in—not that Ivy hated spending long hours with Harley in bed. “Growin’ up outside-ah Gotham?”

Pamela took the welcome distraction from her work; the calculations were beginning to dance on the paper from how long she stared at them. She brought her pen to her lips, giving the cap and soft, contemplative nibble.

“Green,” she answered simply.

“Ya _always_ say that,” Harley groaned, rolling onto her stomach. Sunlight bathed her skin, bare at the midriff and her slender, toned legs, wrapping her in a heavy glow. Her scars were like nicks of silver in the lighting. Ivy wanted to snatch her up, wrap her in soft cloth, and transfer her to softer soil.

“Because it’s always the truth.” She stood from the kitchen chair with a stretch, feeling life circulate slowly back to her legs nerve by nerve. “The greenery is all there is that is good to reflect on.”

“Yeah?” Harley chewed pensively on her nails, eyes on the ceiling. “That can’t be all there was. There must’ve been something ya thought was good, back when ya were younger?”

Ivy shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore what I thought back then. That hasn’t been who I am for a long, long time.”

“Just ’cause you don’t like thinking about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” said Harley with earnest, “or that it wasn’t important.”

“Harl, before I got my degree not a damn thing was important,” Ivy glanced down at her work again. It wasn’t just the numbers moving around now, she realized. It was her vision. When was the last time she’d slept? She couldn’t remember; it was difficult to even focus on the fingers she had on her eyelids, trying to no avail to rub the fatigue out of them. “Make some room, there’s still a few hours of sunlight, it will help me recharge.”

“Mm,” Harley grumbled, but resituated herself. “Okay, but don’t think that just because we’re gonna snuggle I’m lettin’ you off— _or_ gettin’ ya off. Big spoon or little?”

“Little, please.”

Ivy settled down onto the padded cushion, her back pressed to Harley and face bared to the sun. It had taken time, but she was now used to the presence of Harley while sleeping—the slight whistle of her nose where it rested at the top of her head, the soft yet unyielding flesh of her arms around her, scarred and muscular in a way that didn’t feel natural. They weren’t a gymnast’s muscles anymore. She could remember what she looked like back when she had first started out, how small she looked after her first trial where she was ordered imprisonment in the very building that had driven her over the edge. Johnny sometimes told the inmates the old ghost stories of the Arkham estate to pass the time on lonelier nights. The land befell so many misfortunes it was rumored it was cursed down to the soil. Perhaps, out of all people who had been touched by misfortune within the confines of the suspiciously stained asylum walls, it was Harley who had been cursed hardest.

“Red,” Harley spoke up quietly. “Y’ain’t even half asleep and you’re already moaning, don’t start off on a nightmare. Wake up a sec and then go back to sleep, okay? You’re okay, I gotcha.”

Pamela hadn’t realized she had begun to drift, but she found herself nodding blearily, resettling her head back down on the cradle of Harley’s arm. She could feel Harley giggle sweetly into the kiss she pressed to the nape of her neck.

 _Cursed_ , Ivy thought, _yet kindest of us all_.

* * *

Blinking away sleep, Pam awoke in the bedroom. The bed was empty, herself aside, though the other side of the bedding was rumpled from having been shared. Through the open door she could hear the sound of sizzling, as well as detect the earthy smell of potatoes mingling with grease.

“What time is it?” Her eyes fluttered against the harsh kitchen light. Harley had the harsh bulbs on, despite ample sunlight pouring in soft orange through the window.

“Just about seven,” Harley didn’t turn to answer her, only continued shifting her hips a bit as she sang quietly to herself.

“What are you making?” Ivy leaned heavily against the kitchen doorframe, watching Harley as she maneuvered some stuff inside their only skillet.

“Something Ma called a ‘leftover party.’ Ya take anything from the fridge that ya think will work together, throw it on the stovetop, and hope for the best. You haven’t eaten more than a peanut butter and jelly in a couple days; I’m goin’ for quantity over quality.”

“You talk about your mom often,” Ivy noted in a mumble, running her fingers through the mess of her hair as she scoured the refrigerator for something to drink. “Do you miss her?”

Harley paused just slightly as she stirred. “Only kinda.”

Ivy thought a second on if she should prod, but decided in favor of remaining silent. As she set rooted around the fridge drawers, she noticed Harley’s expression had grown pensive. Perhaps prodding was necessary, sometimes. Human interactions had been difficult for her for longer than since she became Poison Ivy, but now they were nearly impossible to deal with innately. Forcing herself to realize the need to worry about others was demeaning, in its own way.

“It’s all right if you do,” Ivy took a bottle of cheap wine out of the crisper and set it on the counter, using the movement as an opportunity to sidle up to Harley. “Miss her, I mean.”

Harley ran the back of her wrist across her nose, but Ivy knew she wasn’t sniffling from the onions. “Na, it ain’t. I’ve done nothin’ to make her wanna talk to me, so I shouldn’t be surprised, yeah? Pass me the paprika?”

Ivy tried not to notice the slight tremble in Harley’s hand when she passed the seasoning shaker over. She swallowed hard, and took up the knife to finish chopping up some shitake for her.

“Who cares if she doesn’t want to talk to you, anyway?” Ivy tried her best for a casual tone. “People like that—it’s their loss, honestly. Sure, you’ve done some dumb things, but you’ve also got more dumb luck than anyone I’ve ever met. You may not be the smartest, either, but aren’t…you aren’t _stupid_ , and you’re nothing if not interesting. You always have something new to say.”

Harley sniffled again, just slightly, but from the edge of her vision, Ivy could see her girl smile, just a little. “Ya mean it?”

“Of course,” for whatever reason, Ivy began chopping a bit faster, heat heavy on her cheeks. “If anything, it’s the ones who are close-minded who aren’t worth talking to. Maybe, after all this time, it’s your turn to make her work to talk to you.”

“Oh, Red!” Harley turned suddenly and glommed onto Ivy, giving her barely enough time to relinquish her hold on the knife.

Ivy let out a small sigh through her nose, unable to stop herself from smiling into her tangled blond hair. Laughing and crying all at once, Harley shook in her arms. Pamela was still a bit disoriented from having just woken up from a nap, so it was a bit much to take in, but she stroked Harley’s back anyway, making vague cooing sounds to calm her down.

“What’s that smell?” Pamela pulled back from Harley.

“The soup!” Harley moved quickly to take it off the burner, but it was too late. She sniffled as she scooped the scorched mess into the sink. “That was all the best stuff, too! I haven’t gone shopping yet this week.”

“It’s okay.” Ivy moved in from behind, wrapping an arm around Harley’s waist and moving her in to lean against her as she scrubbed their skillet clean. “I’m sure it would have been gross anyway. The important thing is you…did your best.”

“Well, gee, Red, that makes me feel a lot better,” her words were bitter as she scraped more scorched soup from the bottom of the pan. “I was tryin’ to do somethin’ nice and I messed it up, just like always. Can’t do a damn thing good.”

Ivy bit her lip. “Fuck it. Let’s go out to eat.”

“What?”

“I mean it. We haven’t been out in a few weeks since you hurt your leg on that last heist with Selina. Man cannot live on bedrest and takeout Chinese alone.”

“I dunno, Red, we ain’t men, I can _definitely_ live on bedrest with you. And Chinese takeout. Those eggrolls, they’ve got me by the hair.”

Coincidentally, so did Ivy during their “bedrest.”

* * *

Harley’s favorite pizza place was near as far out of town as one could get before hitting the bay. She claimed she liked the scent of the salty air, but all Ivy could smell was the stench of dead fish brought in from fishing boats at the piers not even five minutes from the establishment. Not that it could really be called an establishment, as it was little more than a shack on the boardwalk.

They had just placed an order for two huge slices of cheese and garlic pizza when Ivy’s phone buzzed.

“Who is it?” Harley muttered around the complementary breadsticks they received with their order.

“Mm,” Ivy glared at the screen, mouth similarly distracted. “Selina. She just says hello, which is odd. Usually she sends an entire letter’s worth when we haven’t heard from her in a while.”

“Tell her I say ‘hey, girl, hey. Kiss all your cats for me. How’s Ferris Mewler?”

Before Ivy could tell her no, Selina messaged back, complementing the shoes Harley was currently wearing, mentioning them in detail. She closed her eyes, sucking in a breath. “Oh no—”

“Hello, ladies!” Selina appeared from behind, wearing white button-down shirt tucked into sleek cigarette pants. Her own shoes were peculiarly hooked on her fingers, red to match the little scarf tied around her long neck. “Glad to see your leg healed up, Harls.”

“Selly!” Harley leaned up and quickly pecked Selina on the cheek, catching the professional cat burglar by surprise, causing her to giggle. “I haven’t seen ya in _forever!_ How’s Ferris Mewler?”

“Harls, I told you, his name is Biscuit.” Selina wrinkled her nose.

“I know, but it’s a stupid name. How is he? Paw all healed up?”

Selina flashed a lopsided grin at Ivy. “Biscuit—”

“Ferris. Mewler.”

“—is a kitten I rescued with a hurt paw around the time Harley broke her leg. You didn’t see him at the house party, but he was the star of the show. He wouldn’t stop shaking so Harvey held him in his hand all night—so gentle, too.”

“The man couldn’t hold a potted begonia to save his life, yet he can hold a kitten wearing a cast without a hitch. I will never understand him,” Ivy rolled her eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t a gal drop in on her best friends?”

“We aren’t friends,” Ivy noted.

“Can’t a gal drop in on her best friend and her best friend’s girlfriend?”

“Better,” Harley giggled. “Spill the beans, kitty cat, did ya bring ya rich side piece or not?”

“Bruce is trying to find parking. He’s taking me to the carnival at the pier.”

Ivy arched a brow. “That’s a date?”

“Ives,” Selina placed her hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “Bruce Wayne wears only black and has no conception of amusement without help; of course it’s a date.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “I’m very happy for you. Harley and I will leave you to it, once our pizza’s finished, text us when…”

Ivy turned slowly, her assumption correct. Harley hadn’t been listening since Selina threw out the word “carnival.” Her eyes were wide and her face was hopeful, staring into Ivy from behind with a smile so bright it boggled the mind. How childlike she could be.

“Please, oh _please_ , Red, can we go? Can we? Can we? I want cotton candy, I wanna corn dog, I want—”

“A stomachache?”

Harley groaned, stamping her foot. “C’mon, Red, I’ll take it easy! Just a couple rides, a few games, and we can—oh, pizza!”

Ivy scoffed lightly. “Speaking of your side piece.”

To say Bruce Wayne had a knack for standing out would be quite the understatement. It would be like saying the Bible had a small, quiet fan base, or that Harley’s butt was only kind of cute. Though he matched Selina, with his freshly pressed button down and dress slacks, his outfit completely lacked Selina’s whimsy, and entirely clashed with the rustic surroundings of the boardwalk.

“Evening, ladies,” Bruce greeted them with a congenial grin. “Selina, I believe _this_ is yours.”

Bruce handed over what appeared to be a press-on nail, which Selina accepted dubiously. Inspecting her left hand, it was clear that one was indeed missing.

“You, uh,” he cleared his throat. “Lost it on the seat of my pants.”

“Ah,” Selina smiled fondly, “now I remember.”

Ivy fought the urge to gag.

“Bruce-y!” Harley squealed, looping her arm through the billionaire’s, the other hand preoccupied with her half-eaten slice of pizza. “How’s my old pal doin’?”

“Harleen,” he tried, to no avail, to remove Harley’s grip. She always had a way with handling money. “I had no idea you considered me a—friend.”

“Paws off the real name, guy. And— _psh!_ —of course! Anyone who defends me from getting sent back to the hoosegow is a friend of mine.”

“Harley,” Ivy said calmly, “give the man back his wallet.”

Harley pouted, detaching from Bruce with a snap of her hips and produced a wallet, freshly plucked from his back pocket.

“I’m lettin’ ya off easy, bub,” Harley stated, moving back over to Ivy’s side. “But only because my girlfriend says so.”

“Girlfriend?” Selina proclaimed. “Finally! Seems like just yesterday you two hardly even knew each other, now look at you. You’re making mama very proud.”

Ivy, red-cheeked, waved a hand dismissively. “If we’re going to waste the rest of the evening at some tacky carnival I’d prefer to do so _sooner_ rather than later.”

“Of course,” Selina nodded, wrapping an arm around Bruce’s waist and slipping the hand in his pants pocket oh-so casually. “Because the sooner we’re finished, the sooner you and your _girlfriend_ can get back home for what I’m sure will be a well-deserved rest.”

Selina smirked just as Ivy scowled—in the back of her mind, Ivy vowed to take Harley up on that offer to fill Selina’s panty drawer with itching powder.

In the midst of Harley being so eager to gab and catch up with Selina, it was Ivy and Bruce who ended up bringing up the rear as they moved with the slow growing crowd headed toward the pier.

“Girlfriends, hm?” Bruce brought up conversationally, in that tone that was so obviously cultivated for the sole purpose of wooing investors and speaking for televised interviews. “I had no idea you and Harleen were so…close.”

“It’s Harley,” Ivy corrected. “And whether we are or not is of no concern of yours. Do you make it a habit of poking into people’s private lives?”

“Poking?” She could see from the corner of her eye how he manufactured an expression of being wounded. Men, as she was well aware, were capable of the same level of deception as she. “And here I thought I was making successful small talk for once. I suppose I’m no good at it.”

“Perhaps I should try for your same level of candidness,” Ivy sarcastically sweetened her voice, mirroring his tone of public image. “How does it feel spending a night on the town with three criminals, each of us guilty of killing at least once?”

His pace changed just slightly, his footsteps a bit more rigid and firm instead of that pompous airy gait he had otherwise. “I’ve had to make amends with Selina’s…propensity toward wrongdoing many times in the past. In the moment, being with her, she makes it easy to forget.”

“And exactly how has that been working for you?”

He stared at Selina as she took an offered bite of Harley’s pizza—Pamela’s remained untouched in the carton she held.

“I’m working on it,” he answered. “Alfred—my butler—he’s taught me that the things in life you want most won’t always be what’s right for you, or they may not even want you back. Selina is, at the very least…representative of the things that I want.”

“How horridly vapid.” Ivy droned.

Bruce flashed her a sunny smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Loving someone usually is.”

“Are you still holding it against me that I tried to kill your friend Dent?” Ivy ventured as she watched Harley talk to Selina, more animated than she’d seen her in days. She tried to ignore the gnawing sensation in her gut. “If it makes you feel better, I probably won’t do it again. In the foreseeable future, at least.”

“Are you trying to get me to leave?” Bruce ventured. “Because if you are, it won’t work. I’m awfully resilient, Ms. Isley. I’m also Selina’s ride home. If you want me gone, I’m afraid you’ll be banishing her as well.”

Ivy glanced back up at Harley, her smile shining as bright as the carnival lights approaching overhead, and resigned herself to her fate. Perhaps there were worse things than spending an evening in the company of Bruce Wayne.

* * *

“Ya gotta get me one!”

Harley was hopping up and down beside Ivy, after roping her into visiting a ring toss booth. Selina and Bruce were off playing a game of laser tag after he was recognized by a few children, who were apparently visited by him in at the local orphanage before they were adopted. It was, Ivy supposed, a sweet moment. She could tell, because her eyes rolled so hard she developed a slight headache.

“That big puppy, the blue one! That one right there!”

“All right!” Ivy handed her back the food she had been entrusted to hold. “Why do _I_ have to play?”

“Because that’s just how it’s done,” Harley stated matter-of-factly. “The girl says _gee, I want one of ’em!_ And the gal she’s with is like _sure, baby, whatever you want_ , and then they win the biggest prize, and the girl is _guaranteed_ to get laid. I don’t make the rules.”

Ivy placed a five on the counter. “Give me a damn ring.”

Twenty bucks and eighteen rings later, and Harley was the proud owner of a mustachioed stuffed red goldfish the size of a football. Ivy was the proud owner of shot pride.

“Gee, I didn’t even see this little guy up there, Red. He’s still real cute! I’m gonna name him Finneus McFinnegan. Get it? _Fins?_ God, that one’s good!”

“One of your best,” Ivy sighed.

“Aw, cheer up, puddin’ pop!” Harley patted her shoulder. “It ain’t your fault you suck at sports; your brain’s too full of science and stuff for things like hand-eye coordination, ya fucking nerd.”

“All that wit and wisdom,” Ivy droned sarcastically, “and you aren’t a motivational speaker.”

“Keep it up and I won’t kiss ya, tough gal.”

“After ranch breadsticks and garlic pizza? You’d be doing me a favor.”

“I’m still gonna smooch ya anyway,” Harley huffed, “because you’re upset. I know ya like my smooches.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Okay, then no smooch.”

“I lied, I’m very upset. Kiss me.”

Harley laughed, and leaned upward, pecking Ivy quickly on the lips. Ivy moved forward for more, but Harley had already begun walking ahead. She turned back and winked.

“Ya gonna get more of that at home, French fry. Follow me.”

There was a line around the test of strength, lots of mediocre men with their varied selection of partner, each one looking to get them a prize. Ivy eyed the mallet intended for playing, and chuckled a bit.

“That thing is half the size of what you usually hoist around, Harl. Isn’t that cheating?”

“Do ya care?”

“Look who you’re talking to.”

Harley handed Ivy her cotton candy, popcorn, and Finneus McFinnegan, and began stretching rather obviously. Under normal circumstances she’d be glaring daggers at the men staring at Harley as she flexed her body, but their stares read more like they were intimidated rather than turned on, and what would usually be revulsion turned into pride. Of course they were staring; Harley looked amazing in a pair of shorts.

“Take a good look at those prizes, babe.” Harley said between arm stretches. “Because one of ’em is gonna be yours. What’s it gonna be?”

“Harl, no.” Ivy shook her head. “Don’t even waste your time.”

“I’m wanna get ya something!” She sprung back to an upright position, pigtails bouncing. “I told ya, the gal wins the game and they get to go home and have more _fun_ later.”

Ivy sighed, and directed her attention to the row of prizes. Ridiculously cartoonish characters stared back at her, making her lip curl. They were all so tacky, there was no way she’d find one she wanted—

“Mushroom.”

Harley cocked her head. “What was that, Red? I didn’t hear ya.”

“Mushroom,” Ivy pointed up at a stuffed plush mushroom the size of an ottoman. “I want the mushroom.”

Harley’s face lit up. “Stand back, babe, I’m gettin’ ya that mushroom—what was that?”

Ivy turned to where Harley had redirected her attention. All she saw were more bystanders ambling about the ground.

“I don’t see anything.”

“I thought I saw—never mind, the lady wants a shroom, I’m gettin’ her a shroom.”

When it was Harley’s turn, the gum-chomping man in charge of the game laughed heartily.

“Think you can lift that by yourself, little lady?” He asked, awfully condescending for a man in suspenders. “Need a little help? Don’t want you to break your pretty little—”

Harley hefted the wooden mallet comfortably onto her shoulder in one swing.

“—Shoulder.” The gum fell out of his mouth. “…Let it rip, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Harley replied daintily, before slamming the mallet forward with enough force to lift her own feet off the ground. The bevel inside the machine soared up to the bell at the top, rebounded back, hit the bottom, and rang the bell once again. It bounced a third time, but made it only halfway up. She was, after all, still recovering from all that bedrest. “One stuffed mushroom, _garcon_ , and don’t be stingy. Grab the big one for my girl, or ya gonna get it.”

Harley hummed happily to herself as they left the test of strength behind them, now laden with the burden of a stuffed mushroom to tote around until they arrived home. Oddly enough, Ivy didn’t mind having to carry it, or that it smelled like funnel cake and beach air. She held it close to her chest, not much caring, or even thinking on, whether it looked childish.

“Red, I’m kinda beat,” Harley groaned, leaning into her side. “D’ya think we can head home?”

“Really?” Ivy cocked a brow. “There’s still an hour left before they close up shop.”

“Yeah, I know but—hey, Brucey and Selina are going on the Ferris Wheel!” She pointed at the line waiting to board; Bruce and Selina brought up the rear. “That’s the _perfect_ last thing! I get to sit and we can get up close to the sky! There are a lot of stars tonight, it’ll be _très aromatique._ ”

“You just said it would be very aromatic.”

“Well, that too. I mean take a huge whiff, this place smells like an armpit.”

Selina raised her brows when they merged into the line. Grabbing hold of Bruce’s arm, she forfeited their spot so they could stand in behind Harley and Ivy.

“You two certainly had some fun while we were away,” Selina remarked airily. “Ivy’s got a sweet shroom and is apparently wearing Harley’s lipstick now. Very eventful, indeed.”

Ivy’s lips reflexively pursed inward, remembering the quick kiss from Harley earlier.

“Check this guy out, Selly!” Harley lurched forward, knocking Bruce out of the way, and forcing him once again at Ivy’s side. “I named him Finneus. He’s Red and mine’s son.”

Ivy pressed her palm to her forehead, and turned to face forward as the line progressed upward a bit. Later, she would wish she had kept turned around so she would have seen that Harley and Selina had been knocked back a few spaces in line.

“She’s very exuberant,” Bruce noted amiably. “Though I suppose that’s just part of the charm.”

“And you’re talking to me again…why?”

“Ouch,” Bruce chuckled. “Prick me, and do I not bleed? You know, I seem to remember us getting along when you and Harvey were an item.”

“A lifetime ago. Also, I was setting up a con, of course I was nice.”

“I’ve got a good memory; everything feels like yesterday to me.” Bruce checked his watch, and Ivy stole a glance. It was half-past eight, the carnival would be closing soon. “Is there a reason you don’t like me?”

“Is there a reason why you think I should?”

“Touché. Don’t worry; I’ll pay for all four of us.”

Ivy spun around and spied Selina and Harley effectively five sets of people behind now. They both shrugged in unison. They were so similar in some regards it killed. Harley reached for her and their fingers brushed just a bit before they were ushered into their cart.

On the list of things Ivy had taken into considering when she had woken up this morning, the prospect of being stuck on a carnival ride with Bruce Wayne was so low it scored negative. She tried to keep as much distance between him and herself as possible; the synthetic fibers in his shirt made her skin crawl. On the ground below, she spied the prizes they’d had to leave behind in order to board, and suddenly longed for the stuffed mushroom to be the company beside her, instead of the lukewarm billionaire.

“How did you two end up meeting?” Bruce offered conversationally as their car rose slowly up into the air. “I know you two were in the papers for a long time, but they never seemed to have the full story.”

“We both broke into the same museum on the same night,” Ivy answered brusquely. “She lifted a diamond and I made off with rare botanical extracts.”

“What’s that like, running around at night wearing over-the-top costumes? I’m not sure I could ever imagine myself doing that.”

“Only because you’d look wretched in tights,” Ivy countered, wondering if she could jump out of their car. There were some potted palm trees along the perimeter of the ride they were in; need be, she could coax them into a larger, softer landing should she abandon ship. “I suppose it would be comical; Gotham’s beloved playboy donning some silly costume and running around the city under another name.”

“I can only imagine,” Bruce chuckled, and for the first time the whole night, it was a sincere sound. “If I’m a ‘playboy,’ then would my costume be a bunny suit?”

The joke startled a quick burst of laughter from her, and she’d never wanted to pitch someone from a tall height more than this moment. At a loss for reaction, she listened to the foolish heat in her cheeks and did as Harley would do—shoot him the bird.

“Hey,” his tone became like a father admonishing a child. “I thought you’d be used to jokes, given who you work with.”

“Harley and I have always had a complicated relationship, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. I mean it, you and I did get along while you and Harvey were—all right, not dating, don’t give me that look, but while the three of us were out and about. I know a thing or

two about conmen from running a business all these years, and I know that the only way to effectively con is to be as genuine as you can without giving anything away. There was some truth in that time. For Selina’s sake, let’s try and get along.”

“I thought not robbing you blind was a show of enough faith,” she muttered. She wasn’t necessarily in the habit of doing things for Selina’s sake. “Why are you so curious about Harley and me?”

He paused a moment before speaking carefully. “She…has me invested. From what I hear, she has that way about her. I suppose you can say I want to be sure that, whatever happens to her, she’s at least happy and unharmed.”

“Dear _God_.” Ivy lolled her head back, getting a wide view of the stars as their cart rotated up for another passenger to board. “You’re asking me about my intentions for her?”

“More or less,” he gloated. “When I testified before the Arkham Parole Board for her freedom, I learned quite a bit about her story and her behavior. So tragic, yet she’s bounced back up. I wonder if that might be something of your influence.”

“No. That’s all her. Believe me, I’ve been…regrettably cruel and equally kind to her in the past. She does as she pleases. Or, well, she sets her mind on something being a certain way and that’s how she’ll continue to see it. In the beginning, she was so open, so suggestable. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes try to use it to my advantage. I wrote it off as harmless, because half the time I was trying to use her suggestibility to help her smarten up. It’s so hard, seeing that someone is sick, when you’re sick yourself. She needed more help than a tap to the rear and a pep talk on self-esteem.”

“I guess what I’m missing is exactly what _you_ get out of all of this,” Bruce checked his watch once again. It made Ivy a bit uncomfortable. “Harley, it would seem, gets support. Someone who is mature and is, no offense, just the right sort of apathetic to take her constant barrage of affection and not mock her for it like her old ‘puddin’.”

Ivy whipped toward him so fast their car shook. “If you’re going to pretend you know the situation, then you should know damn well not to use that name.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He gestured for her to calm down with his hands. “Force of habit. It’s harder to fear someone when they get called something so soft, you know?”

“It isn’t hard to fear when he’s a constant menace in your life,” Ivy turned away, angrily gnawing on her nails. “He’s a loser, honestly. Pompous and arrogant, but Harley _loves him_.”

“Loved.” Bruce corrected. “She’s with you now, remember?”

Ivy didn’t respond to that. “He’s a sleaze-ball who goes against what few codes of ethic the rest of us criminals have amongst ourselves.”

“You guys have a Code of Ethics? Really?”

Ivy shrugged. “It’s really only two rules and one of them is really only applicable to a few of us, but it’s the principle of the matter.”

“I see.”

“Joker is devoid of all sense of loyalty. I hated thinking about him even before her. But once they met, once _we_ met… I hated her, after a while, for a little while. I hated that she made me care. That she made me care about her, about his hands even touching her. But I think what I hated most, despite how often she left me in the dust, was how much she still _cared_. About _me._ Each time she left, she would come back. Even when she pushed me away, she didn’t deny me, or leave me, not really. She… _accepts_ me, time and time again.”

She thought of the question Harley had posed earlier in the day. What was it like, growing up away from Gotham? What her childhood was like. Ivy hated speaking on those days.

“Like,” she licked her dry lips. “Like a mother would.”

It was pathetic. A bedraggled, useless human thing to say. But she knew the story. Knowing the sad account of Bruce Wayne’s tragic childhood seemed to be something of an unspoken initiation for moving into this city. Motherless people sought out the sort of folk who could fill that void in their lives. It was essential, in their nature. She could see, from the edge of her vision, that he understood, and, like that, the mystery of his and Selina’s attraction was a mystery no more. Selina had a mother’s way about her, too.

All at once, Ivy felt very small. She wondered if Bruce felt it too, the sudden gravity of being reduced to something too compact for your being, the weight rendering them down and down. In the vast, empty night, they were nothing more than two children, lonely and orphaned, staring up at the starry sky, empty hands aching, yearning, for something they would never again know, but would always desperately seek.

The reverie was soon broken by a sudden lurch. Bruce Wayne had a momentary lapse into soccer mom mentality, and thrust an arm sideways like an arm bar to keep Ivy from tipping too far forward.

“The ride stopped,” he answered before she could ask. “I wonder if there’s a problem with this machine.”

“In this backwards town?” Ivy quickly wiped the moisture from her eyes. “I wouldn’t be even a tad surprised.”

“ _NO!_ ”

A loud crack overpowered the loud carnival music. Ivy leaned over the side, looking for the source of the sound. The line waiting to board the ride was scrambling to get away, everyone screaming and frantically fanning out in all different directions. The man in charge of helping customers board lay dead in a puddle of his own blood. From the ground level, two hulking dark shapes began climbing up the Ferris wheel.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Ivy spat. “Those are Joker’s hired baboons.”

“Every carnival needs a clown,” Bruce said dryly. “This is dangerous; we need to get the women and children off this ride.”

Peering down again, Ivy spied that Harley and Selina, in their _infinite wisdom_ , apparently decided to vacate their seats in order to climb down the scaffolding, toward the henchmen working their way up.

“ _Harley!_ ” Ivy called uselessly, a gust of wind blowing her hair up into her mouth. She spat it out and whipped her head of hair back. “You’re rich, get the police to save your ass, and the rest of us!”

“No time, but you can make that call.” He tossed her his cell phone and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. “There are some civilians with their phones out down below, so mostly just hold onto that so I won’t break it.”

“What are you planning to—?”

He lifted the bar the safety bar holding them safe up with ease, the metal groaning like a wounded animal.

“Is _everyone_ a gymnast but me?!” Ivy stashed the expensive smartphone in her bra, but made no promises to return it. “You’re insane!”

“I’ve free-climbed part of an Appalachian mountainside before; this can’t be too different.” He swung himself out of their cart and onto the scaffolding.

Ivy scoffed. “ _Rich people_.”

“Would you like some help down?” He offered.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Suit yourself.”

As Bruce Wayne departed on a mission to rescue passengers, Ivy forced the safety bar back down and resumed watching what was unfolding down below. The henchmen had finally met with Selina and Harley, and the four of them wove in and out of the metal framework of the ride, leaping and throwing punches. Selina could literally do anything in heels, it was a frightening prospect made real. Harley grabbed hold of Selina by the wrists and launched her outward, effectively knocking one of Joker’s lumbering men off the side of the machine and to his death on the ground below.

“Hasta la vista, bay-bee!” Harley cheered, but was knocked over by the other henchman. “Selina, help ya boyfriend rescue the kiddies, I’ll take care of old Vinny.”

Ivy couldn’t tell if Selina had agreed, because overhead the sound of a chopper cut through the noise. GCPD had arrived, lowering a rope ladder. The squawk of their onboard megaphone nearly made Ivy’s ears bleed.

“Load the women and children first,” the familiar voice of Commissioner Gordon announced. “Everyone remain calm. Do not leave your seats without help.”

From the rope ladder, Detective Montoya moved down, and offered her hand to Ivy.

“I’m not going!” Ivy shouted over the chopper sound.

Montoya cupped her ear to her hand, loose strands of hair blowing wildly about her face.

“GET FUCKED, OFFICER. I’M NOT MOVING.” Ivy replied heatedly.

Montoya scowled, but descended further down the ladder to where Bruce had already managed to safely stow a few children onto a level metal crossbeam. Ivy wished the Ferris wheel was smaller; this ordeal would be significantly less of an issue then. The choppers moved out, presumably having retrieved everyone who wanted saving. Ivy being left either meant they respected her wish to remain behind, or they were planning to double back and arrest her. At this rate, honestly, either seemed fine.

An arm swung up into her cart, and slowly Harley pulled herself inside. She was bloody, her shirt ripped and lip bruised, but Ivy kissed her full on the mouth anyway. Harley laughed halfheartedly into the kiss.

“Whoa, even some tongue, I should get attacked more often,” she joked. Of course she joked. That was what Harley did. “Don’t worry, some of it’s mine, but a lot of it’s the other guy’s, I swear. Kitty Cat and I took care of them.”

“Are you okay?”

“Course I am! Look who ya talkin’ to. But…maybe let me lean up against ya, the sky’s spinning an awful lot.”

Ivy tucked her under her arm, squeezing her probably too tight.

“He ain’t here, if ya askin’ yourself that.” Harley muttered into Ivy’s neck. “Vinny spotted us earlier, when I was swinging that hammer. Most of the old gang liked me, but not him. He was sweet on Joker, too. I thought, y’know, maybe he didn’t recognize me. Or I hadn’t really seen him, but I’d seen him. God, I _knew_ we should’ve left earlier, but stupid me had to go on another stupid ride.”

“It wasn’t stupid, Harley. If we’d gone back, he could have followed us back to our home. You wanted to enjoy yourself, there’s no harm in that.”

“Red, the police literally have two choppers up there to evacuate this stupid Ferris wheel, of course there’s harm.”

“Okay, there’s some circumstantial harm. But it was his decision to pull this stunt, not yours.”

“I guess.”

Harley sniffled into Ivy’s neck. As she shivered and shook, Ivy knew it wasn’t because it was cold. It was shock, and fear, and a little bit of humiliation. All very human feelings, of course they hurt. All human things did, in their own way.

“Y’know, I’ve never been on a Ferris wheel before,” Ivy said off-handedly. “Or been to a carnival. I’d have to say that this was a pretty good first time, all things considered.”

Harley still said nothing. Hot tears fell onto Ivy’s shoulder, and it was as though each one was a stone falling to the pit of her stomach.

“I don’t talk about when I was little, because it doesn’t feel like I ever was. Little, I mean. My father was nearly always working and my mother was…distant. Harsh and expectant. When other kids were out playing, I was learning etiquette or attending cotillion. Even…even thinking of her saying my name, so hard and demanding, always telling me that I’d done something wrong, or I’d been too slow at doing it right, it makes me feel small. Even now. I lived a white, starched life.

“The only time I got to do something that felt—wrong, unplanned, was when she would let me tend to her roses. She said a young lady should know how to care for her own garden. I hated the way she wanted me to do it. Cut off a withered bud at exactly this angle, remove every thorn, use precisely this amount of water. Under those tight conditions, nothing could grow. So I disobeyed, and it felt…so _good_. To have my hands in soil, to do something my way and have something work better because of it, to _create_ something and have it as my own, it was the best feeling I could imagine.

“Until she found out. Found out that I’d not followed her rules, that I’d been getting dirty and had been washing before she could see how neatly I had done my gardening. I’ll never get over it, the sight, the _smell_ of dozens of roses, burned by the bush, in the fireplace I associated so much with happy times.”

Ivy took in a stuttering breath, staring up again at the sky. Her hands clenched, and Harley, as if knowing, sensing their emptiness, their ache, slipped a hand between, so she could have something, someone, to hold.

“That’s why I say nothing mattered, before I came here.” Ivy finished lamely. “Before Gotham…before you, nothing was good. I was perfect white china plate, living the perfect white, starched life. And when—when Woodrue _took and took_ from me, and made me into—whatever this is—everything went black. Nothing had color. And then you spoke to me. You reached out your hand, and you took mine, and you held it. And there it was. A spark. Just a speck, a little fleck of light. And slowly, and suddenly, and carefully, I was _alive_. Because of you. I guess what I’m saying is—”

Ivy was cut off by the sound of Harley snoring. Now, she wondered how much of the moisture on her shoulder was actually drool instead of tears.

“What I’m saying is,” she said softly, “I’ll tell you later.”

Everything, without fear, without pain. Every word, over and over again, and each time more of a declaration than the last. Clearly, and directly. In love, and unafraid.


End file.
